


If Ever I Could Love

by Raine_Wynd



Series: Nick's Troubles [3]
Category: Highlander: The Raven, Highlander: The Series
Genre: Angst, Drama, Immortality, Loving an immortal should come with a handbook or a warning label, M/M, Male Character of Color, Romance, Secrets, love isn't easy, past friends-with-benefits
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-04-19
Updated: 2013-04-19
Packaged: 2017-12-08 21:56:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 8
Words: 20,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/766474
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Raine_Wynd/pseuds/Raine_Wynd
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Richie found someone he calls gorgeous, and the man fell in love with him. Oops?</p>
<p>Set in the same universe as the Nick’s Troubles series, but stands alone.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Clan Denial is alive and well. Thanks to Rhi for brainstorming. Thanks also to Killa and Sam for beta reading and for their many insightful comments.

_March 2013_

Stepping into the pub, Jamal was pleased to note that while it might have a warehouse district location, the inside was warm, well lit, and welcoming, without being a dive bar, stuck in the 1970s, or worse, pretentiously hip. Off to his left was a decent-sized stage, currently set with a single bar stool and a microphone. The highly polished bar proper held center court against the back wall. Immediately in front of Jamal was a host stand, currently unoccupied. A mix of square and rectangular tables filled the space, and the pub looked to be about a quarter occupied. Bluesy guitar music was being played over the speakers at a level that was unobtrusive.

Stepping forward, Jamal took a seat at the bar. The bartender who took his order wore a dark blue shirt emblazoned with “Joe’s,” and introduced herself as Maggie.

“First time here?” Maggie asked.

Jamal nodded. “Just moved here last week. My boss suggested I check this place out when he found out I like blues.”

Maggie smiled and pulled out a yellow flyer from underneath the bar. Pushing it at Jamal, Maggie said, “That’s the list of upcoming shows. Nothing tonight though.”

Jamal studied the list, impressed by the artists he saw there. “Wow, you guys get some big names here.”

Maggie’s smile widened. “I know. If you’re looking for a tour guide for everything local, talk to Rich.”

“Who?”

“Guy at the back table over by the men’s room,” Maggie said, gesturing with her hand. “Redhead, can’t miss him.” Maggie grinned, a hint of mischief lighting her otherwise ordinary face.

“I’d hate to bother him.”

“No, I think someone should,” Maggie said. “He’s tired of me.”

Intrigued at that, Jamal pocketed the flyer, picked up his beer, and made his way over to the indicated booth.

He found a lean, muscular man with short reddish-blond hair seated there, reading a book. A half-finished pint of some dark beer was within easy reach, and he’d set a black motorcycle helmet on the table. Jamal felt the instant flare of attraction, and it made him stumble a little over what he wanted to say.

* * *

“Odd place to read a book,” a deep male voice noted to Rich’s left. "I mean, I'd never think to bring –” He cleared his throat and started over. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t be judging. Are you Rich?”

Rich looked up from the French novel he’d been reading to see a large-framed man standing beside his table. His black, three-quarter length puffy ski jacket hid any definition of his musculature, but Rich had seen enough to know he wanted to see what the jacket hid.

Grinning, Rich set aside the book and gestured for the stranger to join him. “Yes, I’m Rich, and no, it’s not that odd. Can’t drink good beer in a library.”

“Good point.” Chuckling, the stranger took him up on the invitation, pausing to strip off his jacket before sitting down. Underneath the jacket, he wore a long-sleeve green Henley and dark blue jeans that hugged his long legs and clung to a trim waist and wide hips. Rich liked the way the stranger moved, with a fluidity of confidence in his broadly-built body. In a fight, the stranger would have a sheer mass advantage, but in bed, Rich suspected the man would be a teddy bear. Rich's lips curved; he hadn't taken one of those for a ride in years.

“Jamal Huxley,” the stranger introduced himself, reaching across the table to shake hands. “Maggie said you might be willing to be my tour guide to all things local? I just moved here from Detroit.” Jamal had neatly layered black hair cut fashionably short, deep-set green eyes, an oval face, a wide nose, high cheekbones, and sensual lips. He was clean-shaven. His skin was the golden brown hue of a mixed race ancestry.

Rich shot a look in Maggie’s direction and made a mental note to thank her: Jamal was strikingly attractive, and just what he wanted as a distraction. Rich turned on his charm. “Detroit? What brings you to Seacouver?”

“I’m a marine engineer,” Jamal explained. “The company I was working for in Detroit went out of business, so I had to start looking for work. Got lucky – I was only out of work for a year before I was hired by Sound Maritime Consulting. My fraternity brother’s been trying to get me to move out for years, so he’s excited that I’m here. What do you do?”

“I’m the manager for Studio Martial Arts on West 17th,” Rich said easily. Before Jamal could respond to that, a server came by to take his drink order. Jamal refused alcohol, opting for water instead. Once the order had been placed, Jamal leaned forward.

“I was going to look for a martial arts studio,” Jamal began. “I haven’t taken a class since I was a child, but I’ve always wanted to go back again. What do you teach there?”

“Shaolin kung fu, tai chi, and self-defense,” Rich said. “Duncan MacLeod’s the primary instructor; I’m just the assistant. We also host capoeira and yoga.”

“Ah, darn it. None of the things I’m looking for. I wanted to stick with karate. I don’t suppose you’d have any recommendations?”

“I’d try West Karate in Northlake,” Rich told him. “Unless, of course, you want to try something different and want to come to where I work.”

“So you do teach classes?”

“Just the self-defense and tai chi classes. Mac and I have a standing disagreement on the kung fu,” Rich said easily.

Jamal chuckled. “Somehow, I don’t think that’s all you do. I’ve yet to meet an assistant who wasn’t actually secretly in charge of it all.”

Rich laughed. “You haven’t met Duncan MacLeod.”

Jamal grinned as the server delivered his drink. “You sound like you know him well.”

Rich nodded. “He’s like family and I’ve worked for him on and off for years.”

“Is that a full-time job?” Jamal wondered.

“Close enough,” Rich told him with a smile. “So, besides blues and martial arts, what else do you like?”

“Figured I’d do the usual tourist stuff at some point. I went to the aquarium when I was here for my interview; it’s not as good as some. I heard the art museum is impressive.”

Rich nodded. “It is. There’s a special exhibit on modern art right now. Mac gave me a season pass and I haven’t had a reason to use it. I’d love to go with you, if you’re interested.”

“Oh, you don’t have to –” Jamal began, hesitant.

“I insist,” Rich said, and leaned forward. “My friends have all heard my comments already. Be interesting to find out if you share them.” He considered. “Do you get weekends free?”

“Most of the time,” Jamal said. “I sometimes have to travel to vessels to perform inspections or work a weekend to meet a deadline, but I’m not yet scheduled for any of that.”

“Let’s plan for Saturday at one, then,” Rich said. “I have class to teach in the morning, but I can meet you there. What’s your number?” Rich palmed his phone from beside his helmet and waited expectantly.

Jamal dug into his coat pocket and pulled out his phone as he distractedly rattled off his phone number.

Rich typed it into his contact list, then sent Jamal a text with his number in return.

“Wow, you’re fast,” Jamal said in surprise. “I was just getting ready to ask you for your number.”

“Easier to text it,” Rich said with a grin.

“True,” Jamal acknowledged. “So are you from here?”

“Grew up here,” Rich said. “I keep leaving; something always draws me back here, even after all the places I’ve seen.”

“From what I’ve seen so far, it’s beautiful. Cold and wet now, but beautiful. When does the rain stop?”

Rich chuckled. “You haven’t seen the forecast yet, have you? We might have snow this weekend.”

Jamal groaned, though his eyes sparkled with humor. “I knew I should’ve taken that job in Houston.”

“So why didn’t you?” Rich asked.

“They wanted to pay me less and give me fewer benefits,” Jamal explained.

Rich made a sympathetic noise. “I’ve heard that the job market’s gotten tougher, with employers expecting more for less.”

Jamal nodded. “That’s one of the reasons I wanted to leave Detroit. I grew up in the city – my mom emigrated with my dad from Egypt before I was born – but it’s just a mess. I think the city expected the car manufacturers to be there always, propping up the economy, and so much money got mismanaged along the way.”

“I was wondering about that. A guy could spend all day trying to understand the news.”

Jamal laughed, and Rich decided instantly that he wanted to hear that again. “Oh yeah. I lost four hours trying to get all the information on the cruise ship that sank last year.”

“So what does a marine engineer do?” Rich wondered. He was rapidly becoming intrigued by Jamal, and felt the familiar spark of desire. Physical attraction was fine for a one-night stand, but Jamal didn't seem the type. Still, Rich wasn't ruling anything out just yet.

“Depends on what the project requires,” Jamal told him. “Mostly, what I’ve done has to do with designing, maintaining, or repairing the mechanical systems on a ship.”

“Not a mechanic?”

“More like the guy who draws the diagrams and writes the procedures the mechanic has to follow, or designs the entire system that gets built and installed. I also help the owners and crews meet the various regulations, like for Coast Guard surveys and such.”

“Do you need to go to college to learn how to do that?”

Jamal nodded. “A lot of guys go through the Navy or the Merchant Marines or the Coast Guard first, but I knew what I wanted to do from a career fair in high school. Got lucky and got a partial scholarship to the University of Michigan. Have you gone to college?”

“I wasn’t the greatest student,” Rich admitted. “I pick up languages pretty easily, though.”

Jamal glanced at the book Rich had been ignoring. “That would explain why you’re reading – is that a Stephen King book in French?” He eyed the cover, which had a headshot of a beautiful model. “And I’m sorry, but that has to be the worst cover I’ve ever seen for a book.”

Rich grinned. “One of the reasons I bought it. I like his stuff, though. Are you a fan?”

Jamal shuddered. “I can’t stand horror.” He paused and looked warily at Rich, as if trying to gauge how he’d react. “I had a boyfriend made me watch horror movies in the hope I’d leap into his arms.”

“And did you?” Rich kept his face calm as he fought a surge of anger over the way Jamal had to have been treated to think Rich was going to dislike him for his sexual preference.

Jamal laughed. “Hell no, I ran from the room, are you kidding?”

“I’ll just scratch those off the list, then,” Rich said, flirting more openly. “But if you wanted to run in my direction, I wouldn’t mind.”

Jamal hesitated, and Rich read hope and attraction mixed with wary experience. “You won’t get into trouble here for that?”

Rich swallowed a laugh. “Jamal, this isn’t Detroit. Seacouver is very accepting of people like us. Besides, I work here sometimes. If they didn’t already know about me, they haven’t been paying attention.”

“It won’t affect your employment?” Jamal pressed, leaning his hands on the table in emphasis.

“Jamal,” Rich said, taking his hand and leaning forward, “I work for my former guardian, and Joe – the guy whose name is on this bar – is an old friend. Both know me well. I think the better question is, will it affect your employment in this city, and the answer is no. The city has an anti-discrimination ordinance that includes sexual orientation. If you do get hassled for it, let me know and I’ll help you fight it. Nobody should feel ashamed to be who they are.” He gripped Jamal’s hand reassuringly, then let go.

Jamal relaxed visibly. “My father was a police officer,” he said. “He was always so worried that I’d get beat up for being gay. My mom was supportive but she didn’t understand why I’d turn against her religion like that. I think I wound up in her ‘but he’s someone I know so it’s okay’ category of people.”

“I’ve known people like that,” Rich agreed, taking a sip of his beer.

“I miss them,” Jamal confessed. “They died the summer I graduated college. A drunk driver hit them head on, and they didn’t see it coming. They had an old compact car – my dad kept trying to get my mom to agree to buy a new car, but she didn’t see why if the one they had worked – and it just didn’t protect them at all.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Rich said sincerely. “Do you drink less because of what happened to them?”

Jamal looked at him, confused.

“You’re in a bar and drinking water,” Rich explained, gesturing to the glass in front of Jamal.

“What –” Jamal glanced down at his glass. “Oh, yes. That’s part of the reason. The other part is that I haven’t had a beer I liked. Wine I can take or leave, and the whole thing about hard liquors – I don’t understand it.”

“If you wanted me to,” Rich said carefully, “I could introduce you to a few things. No pressure, you understand, but if you wanted to try some good drinks, a few good beers, that sort of thing – I’d be happy to help.”

“You would?” Jamal asked, surprised. “I mean, you’re already helping me as it is. I don’t want to be a burden or anything.”

“Hey,” Rich said gently. “I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to. When you’re ready to do that, you let me know. If you decide you don’t ever want to, that’s okay too. I'm not going to turn you into an alcoholic, but I happen to agree with a friend of mine: a good beer is one of the finer pleasures in life.”

“Where have you been all my life? The guys in Detroit – if one of them made me an offer like that, I’d think they were just doing it to see how drunk they could get me before I’d sleep with them.”

“Oh, I want you,” Rich admitted readily. “Just thought I’d be up front about that, so you weren’t confused. But I’d like to know you a little better before then. I’d rather we were both sober when we fuck, at least the first time. Sound fair?”

Jamal stared at him, astonished at his frankness. Then his lips curved in appreciation. “Sounds fair. Are you always this up front with people?”

“For things like this? Absolutely,” Rich agreed. “I would hate to leave a gorgeous, classy, and intelligent guy like you wondering what I wanted from you.”

For a moment, Jamal goggled at him before chuckling. “What would happen if I said no?”

“I’d be disappointed,” Rich said promptly, and knew that if Jamal said no, he'd try to change his mind. It had been a while since he'd taken on that sort of challenge, and Jamal was pretty enough to be worth pursuing. “But I’d still want to meet you at the art museum on Saturday. I could always use a friend.”

Jamal studied him, leaning back. “You intrigue me, Rich,” he admitted after a few moments. “I’ve never met anyone like you.”  

Rich chuckled. “I can imagine.” He waited, certain Jamal would have more to say.

“Can we take this a little slow?” Jamal asked. “I don’t think I know you well enough yet.”

Not surprised by the request, Rich nodded. “Would it be rushing you to ask if you have dinner plans?”

Jamal shook his head. “No, we can talk more over dinner, get to know each other.”

“That’s what I was thinking. I know a great Peruvian place five blocks north. It’s more substantial than the sandwiches and nachos here.”

“Peruvian? What kind of food is that?”

Rich grinned. “Steaks and pasta, South American style. I spent six months in La Paz helping a friend run a health clinic.”

Jamal looked at him, intrigued. “Sounds interesting. I get the sense you’ve had a lot of jobs.”

Rich laughed. “I prefer to look at it as a career spent helping my friends do what they do well, and when I’m not doing that, I’m traveling the world. It’s been good for me.”

Jamal whistled softly, admiration on his face. “I’ve always wondered what that would be like.”

“You have to be willing to live simply,” Rich said. “I have a dual-sport bike that I’ve ridden everywhere, and I never take more than what my bike can hold. It’s been occasionally dangerous, and there are places where I’ve been targeted just because I’m a white man with red hair.”

“I can see that,” Jamal said. “There were places in Detroit I didn’t dare go to more than once because people looked at me like I was a terrorist. And yes, I’d like to try Peruvian. Should we walk or do you want me to drive?”

“If you’re okay with walking, I’m good with that,” Rich said, dropping a bill on the table to cover his tab.


	2. Chapter 2

Three weeks later, Jamal knew he was on the fast track to falling in love. Rich was an intriguing combination of enthusiasm, charm, and unexpected depth. As planned, he'd met Jamal at the art museum, pointing out details only someone with sincere art appreciation would share. Then Rich explained that the Tessa who’d served as his co-guardian was actually the same as the internationally recognized metalwork artist Tessa Noël, and the pieces came together.

They couldn’t get together the next weekend because Rich had to work, but the weekend after that, Rich invited him to a spring party hosted by a member of a local motorcycle club. Three days before the party, Rich called him.

“How big is your head?” Rich asked without preamble.

“What?” In the middle of reviewing a deck structure drawing, the question caught Jamal off guard.

“I need to know how big your head is so I can borrow a helmet for you,” Rich explained. “Saturday’s party is on Center Island, and they limit how many cars can go there. It’s also cheaper to take a motorcycle on the ferry. I was planning to take the luggage rack off the back of my bike so you can ride, but I don’t want to take you without a helmet. If you know your hat size, that'll make it even easier.”

“Um, I’ve never ridden a motorcycle before,” Jamal ventured.

“Any reason you object to trying?”

“No, I’m just –" Jamal stopped himself. He’d always wondered what it would be like, and if he said no, it was likely he’d wind up spending the day staring at the walls of his apartment. His fraternity brother had turned out to be flakier than Jamal had remembered, unable to commit to getting together for even coffee. “A little nervous,” he admitted.

Rich chuckled softly. “Don’t be,” he assured him. “Do you wear a safety helmet when you’re inspecting ships?”

“Yes, of course.”

“How big do you make it on the inside?”

“As big as they’ll let me,” Jamal said.

“Okay, that helps. I’ll borrow two sizes and we’ll see which one fits better. It’s going to be windy, so you’ll want a good leather or denim jacket that’ll keep you warm, and hiking boots if you have them.”

“Who are you borrowing them from?” Jamal wondered.

“Seacouver Riders always has someone who has excess gear,” Rich said. “I keep a spare helmet, but I don’t think it’ll fit you.”

“Is it the law that the passenger has to have a helmet?”

“No, but it’s the law that the operator does, and it just makes sense.”

“Oh. Do you want to stop by tonight and see if one of them fits?”

“I have to teach class tonight, sorry, and tomorrow night I’m working at Joe’s.”

“You work at Joe’s, too?” Jamal asked, surprised. “Oh, right, you did mention that.”

“Just filling in,” Rich said, and Jamal could almost see the shrug. “Joe’s playing, and he needs someone to manage for him so he can just play. I have the experience. Friday I’m running down to Everett for the other helmets.”

Now Jamal felt bad. “I could just ride without –”

“Not with me,” Rich said with finality. “You don’t come with a bumper-to-bumper guarantee.”

Jamal chuckled. “Thanks, Rich.”

“See you Saturday,” Rich said, and disconnected the line.

Jamal sat back in his chair and stared at his cell phone a moment, touched by Rich’s thoughtfulness. After their museum date, Rich had kissed him, but hadn’t pushed to follow him home. Jamal’s last boyfriend had been intense, passionate, and the notion of waiting – for well, much of anything – had been foreign to him. Rich was a breath of fresh air by comparison.

Three days later, Jamal felt odd in the full-face helmet with a No Fear sticker on the back, but worse, he felt huge on the back of Rich’s motorcycle. Rich had a 2001 BMW 1150GS Adventure that Jamal knew he’d recognize anywhere: it was black and yellow, and looked as though it had seen more than its share of road.

“You said you removed something?” Jamal asked, looking at it in the parking garage of his apartment building.

“Yeah, I took off the luggage rack and swapped it out for the back rest. Figured you might want to be comfortable. Come on, we need to get going if we’re going to catch the ferry. I’m going to get on first, and then you’re going to get on behind me, right leg over the seat first, like you’d imagine getting on a horse. When we get going, hold on to either the backrest or me. Don’t worry about leaning; this bike is powerful enough that I can handle it, but I’d appreciate it if you didn’t lean in the direction opposite the way we’re going. If you need to tell me something, wait until we’re at a stoplight unless it’s an emergency, then tap my thigh.”

Jamal eyed the bike dubiously. “It’ll take both of us?”

“It will, trust me. You don’t look like you weigh as much as what I’d pack for a six-month trip.”

Reserving judgment, Jamal followed instructions. His position on the pillion seat brought him closer to Rich in a way he hadn’t expected.

Ten minutes later, Jamal was in love with being on two wheels. The throaty roar of the engine, the closeness of the man operating the machine, the way the road felt suddenly up close and personal all combined to a level of intensity that Jamal wanted to experience again. Then they boarded the ferry, and Jamal – always fascinated with the way ships worked – was in awe. Motorcycles boarded first, he noted, and the medium-sized ferry held a contingent.

The ferry ride was not long, and they were soon on the way to where the party was. Jamal realized that one of the reasons Rich had wanted to ride rather than take a car was that the roads were winding and steep. It was clear that Rich knew the route; Jamal would’ve been lost within three turns after the ferry terminal. Finally, they emerged out of the tree-lined roadway onto a gravel road that looked like it was part of a small farm. A collection of motorcycles, maxi-scooters, and a few cars were parked to the right of the rural mailbox. Rich chose a spot to the right of the last bike, then shut the engine off before easing out of the seat. He then assisted Jamal with getting off the bike, and Jamal stumbled, surprised to feel a little saddlesore.

“It’ll wear off,” Rich assured him as they removed their helmets.

“Your jacket felt very stiff in front – is that because of the leather or do you have reinforcement?”

“Both, but I think what you were feeling were my knives. I’m armed,” Rich said. “Probably should’ve told you sooner. I have two knives in my jacket. I try not to use them, but I’ve had reasons to stay armed.”

“Knives? Why?”

“I ran with a gang when I was younger,” Rich told him. “I’m still paranoid about safety.”

Jamal’s eyes widened as he absorbed this new knowledge. “Is someone after you?” he asked.

“Don’t worry, I’ll protect you.”

“Rich –” Jamal began.

“Don’t argue with me on this.” His face was more serious than Jamal had ever seen it. “Please. I’d rather be wrong and not need a weapon than be sorry and need one.” Almost apologetically, he pressed a kiss to Jamal’s lips. Impressed by his seriousness and his concern, Jamal let the subject drop.

“You two going to stand around in the yard all night and kiss?” a gruff voice demanded. Turning, Jamal saw a man who instantly defined ‘aging hippie’, complete with the requisite tie-dye peace sign t-shirt, baggy shorts, and flip-flops.

“It was under consideration,” Rich shot back, and the hippie laughed.

“Smartass,” was the rejoinder.

“Takes one to know one,” Rich said, grinning. “Jamal, this is Wes, our host. Wes, this is Jamal.”

Wes shook hands, reaching out to touch Jamal’s upper arm in a friendly way as he did so. “You’re a brave man, traveling with Rich here.”

“Oh, how so?”

Wes grinned. “He always takes the longer, hillier scenic route, that’s why. Come on in, there’s food to be eaten and drinks to be drunk.”

Wes led the way around what Jamal had thought to be a barn. He quickly realized that it wasn’t a barn, but the backside of the massive house. Inside, an open floor plan was anchored by a soaring, two-story stone fireplace. Soon, Jamal found himself caught up in the party. Rich left him alone at various points, but Jamal didn’t feel abandoned; when Rich was by him, he touched him enough to make it clear that they were together, without being clinging or possessive. Enough people were at the party that the conversations were diverse and spirited. The club members were mostly in the IT industry, with a good cross-section of other professions, and for the most part, didn’t fit the image of “biker” Jamal had in his head. Still, Jamal felt welcomed.

When Rich dropped him off afterwards, Jamal didn’t want Rich to leave. He kissed him, lingering, hoping that Rich would take the hint. “Come upstairs,” Jamal invited.

Rich studied him a moment. “Are you sure? Your legs and thighs aren’t too sore? I saw you wince when you got off my bike.”

“We can do other things,” Jamal suggested.

Rich held firm. “Much as I’d love to take you up on that, you’ll hate me in the morning if I said yes. Go upstairs and take a hot bath and think of me,” he suggested.

For a moment, Jamal wanted to push the issue. He’d had a great day, and he wanted to end it with Rich in his bed. The casually possessive way Rich had treated him had served to heighten his awareness of the other man.

“You’re not having second thoughts about us, are you?”

“No, I just want you to be sure. You haven’t been with too many people, have you? Seriously, I mean.”

Jamal shook his head. “No.”

“Less than five?” Rich hazarded.

Jamal’s eyes widened. “Does it show?”

“Only to someone who’s had more experience. I love that about you, by the way.” Rich kissed him reassuringly. “But that means that I don’t want you to think I rushed you. And I want you not mad at me for making you stretch your leg muscles that much. Go on. If you’re too sore to move tomorrow, call me, and I’ll bring over some muscle salve.” Rich kissed him; this time lingering a little more, bringing him closer, and making it clear just how aroused he was. Reluctantly, Rich eased back. “You’d better go before I change my mind.”

“All right,” Jamal said, disappointed, but aware that Rich was right; he was starting to feel his muscles protest. “Be safe going home.”

* * *

Four days later, Rich’s hand hesitated over Jamal’s name on his cell phone. Rich knew that if he were a smart man, he’d walk away now. Jamal wasn’t his usual choice in lovers; Rich recognized he might be playing with fire as a result. He’d tried his best not to call after the motorcycle group party, wanting a little distance, but even after such a short time, he found himself thinking about Jamal. Rich wanted to know more about Jamal, wanted to be the one to show him a little happiness. Rich knew he couldn’t quantify the attraction and need he felt; he wasn’t sure if he had the words to articulate them. His finger pressed Jamal’s number before Rich could convince himself not to call.

“Good evening, this is Jamal.”

Rich smiled at the courtesy; he couldn’t remember the last time someone greeted him formally on a cell phone call. “Hi, Jamal. I’m not calling at a bad time, am I?”

“No,” Jamal said, and his voice warmed. “I was just trying to decide what I wanted to cook for dinner. All the dishes my mom taught me are for a family, not a single guy.”

Rich chuckled. “I hate cooking,” he said. “It’s not always cheaper when you’re by yourself. Speaking of food, are you free Saturday afternoon? I was thinking we could go see a movie and then have dinner afterwards.”

“Sorry, Rich, but one of my coworkers invited several of us to join him on his boat for a sail up through the bay – he’s moving moorage.”

“Oh.” Rich was disappointed, but relieved to know that Jamal was making friends. He knew what it felt like to be in a new city and alone.

“Sorry, but the way he worded the invite, it sounded like he was limiting who could go. Are you free Sunday?” Jamal countered.

“I’m working at Joe’s on Sunday,” Rich said. “I’m free the following Friday night, though. I was going to go dancing at De Vivre.”

“Dancing? Rich, I don’t do dance clubs. They tend to be meat markets and I can’t dance.”

“It’ll be different,” Rich promised. “For one thing, you’ll be with me. I’ll protect you from those guys who just want to score. Besides, I’m sure the clubs here aren’t the same as they are in Detroit. Maybe some of the same people go there, but I can guarantee you, De Vivre’s in a class of its own. I worked in a high-end club like it in Paris, and it’s made me picky.”

Jamal considered. “All right, but if I hate it, I’m not staying just because you want me to. If you want to stay without me, I’ll make it up to you another time, as long as I get to choose where we go.”

“Fair enough,” Rich agreed. “Meet you at your place at 7:30 pm?”

“Sure.”


	3. Chapter 3

Rich took Jamal dancing at De Vivre, a club downtown. Jamal had expected a LBGT-friendly techno dance nightclub based on the Yelp description he’d read, but Rich had known something Jamal didn’t: it was theme night.

“What does ‘Lovers under the Summer Sky’ mean?” Jamal asked, seeing the flyers posted all over the entrance.

Rich grinned. “Just wait.”

Then the music started: slow songs meant for couples, from a variety of genres, and Rich led him out to the dance floor. Jamal quickly forgot that he hadn’t really danced like this, much less in public. Jamal had been out for years, but going to clubs hadn’t been his scene, and he’d limited his dating as a result. Rich had been hard to resist, and Jamal found himself enjoying the thrill of being held close, being able to be in public with another man and have people watching them in a way that said a few of them wished they were right where Jamal was.

This time, however, Jamal wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Rich had been teasing him all evening, in a way that left Jamal aching for release. To his relief, Rich parked his motorcycle in the guest spot in the garage of Jamal’s apartment building, and then followed him upstairs.

Once inside Jamal’s apartment, Rich took off his jacket, dropped it to the couch, and then asked, “No second thoughts about this?”

Jamal kissed him. “None.” He grinned. “As long as you’re not too tired to have sex?”

Rich laughed. “No. Maybe I should be asking you that? I know we were dancing a while.”

Jamal shook his head. “I’m good. Please, Rich, no more excuses. I appreciate that you’ve been taking it slow with me, but I don’t want to wait anymore. I want you.” Needing more, Jamal reached for Rich’s shirt, trying to take it off him.

“Easy, babe,” Rich said. “We’ve got all night.” He took possession of Jamal’s hands, and then kissed them, distracting Jamal from his goal. With an ease that spoke of experience, Rich seduced Jamal.

Jamal hadn’t had many lovers, and those he’d had hadn’t been nearly as interested in the way he responded. The pleasure Rich took in bringing Jamal to climax was a novelty, and he taught Jamal more about his body in one night than Jamal had ever known. Jamal had thought he’d known what sex was like, but the way Rich delighted in exploring his body, trying to figure out what Jamal liked, and then taking the time to ease through Jamal’s nerves – that was something special, something entirely new.

Every Friday after that, Rich took him to dinner or dancing or both, sometimes at Joe’s, often elsewhere. Jamal rejoiced in being able to be with someone who didn’t give a damn about what other people thought. Jamal had always dreamed of being with someone who was out like that; in Detroit, he’d had to be so damned careful. The night would always end with sex at Jamal’s apartment. Jamal was starting to crave the way Rich made him feel, as if he was someone precious, sexy, and worth every minute of Rich’s time.

* * *

Rich didn’t think too deeply about what he was doing with Jamal. In his mind, Jamal was just a fun alternative to the stresses in his life: namely, Mac. Mac was back on his case about furthering his education, being something more than what he was, and Rich was tired of it. Rich knew exactly who he was: a sometime thief who was good at making businesses run, regardless of whether they were martial arts studios or dance clubs or some backwater motor repair shop. He had a plan for his life, and that plan didn’t include getting pushed into college just because Mac wanted him to go.

Still, Rich knew loyalty was one of his biggest weaknesses; he couldn’t quite bring himself to leave Seacouver. He’d promised Mac to stay until Labor Day. He’d promised Joe he’d help in the bar, as much as Joe needed, until Joe could train someone he trusted to take the manager role. So far, the Game had been relatively quiet in this part of the world; it was very different from the constant danger Rich had been in when he’d been in Paris, working at Sanctuary.

Having spent the last three years on the road with Cory, learning both how to be a better thief and how to enjoy life (even when the world felt a little too close), Rich had grown weary of one-night stands. Jamal made deciding to pick up and leave sooner a little more difficult. It had been three years since Rich had had a steady lover, and he’d missed being able to take his time, to know that he could show that he cared about the person he was with, even if he didn’t risk all of his heart. Jamal’s relative innocence was refreshing, at times at odds with his experience with people in general. It was clear that he hadn’t had a lover who’d treated him as if he mattered, and Rich couldn’t stop wanting to show Jamal that he did. It didn’t feel right that a guy like Jamal had managed to get to his early thirties without being respected and treasured for the man he was.

So the weeks turned into months, and Rich stopped thinking about leaving just because Mac couldn’t see that he was happy doing what he was doing. Then, one morning in May just after Rich closed the bar, he was challenged.

Standing in his shower after dealing with the body and cleaning the swords, Rich leaned his head against the tiles, feeling older and wearier than his age. It was tempting to get dressed, to ride until Rich felt like he’d become part of the machine, and just forget all about any responsibilities he had. As soon as he thought it, though, he laughed at himself, remembering how there’d been days when having planned the trip had meant the difference between living and dying. Abruptly aware that the desire to leave town was not his own, Rich breathed deep. The losing immortal’s Quickening had been laced with the bitter taste of defeat and resentment; he’d apparently thought he was going up against someone so honorable they wouldn’t have trained against something like poisoned blades. Rich snorted and straightened his posture, deliberately going through the process of cleaning himself to settle the Quickening even further.

Once clean, Rich dressed and made a phone call. “Mac, I won’t be in to open the dojo today.”

“Everything okay, Richie?” Duncan asked, concerned.

“Got challenged this morning,” Rich said. “I’ll be in this afternoon, but I just need the morning.”

“Who was it?”

“Some idiot named John Gould,” Rich said. “He was using a poisoned blade. He was stupid enough to stand there and wait to see if I’d keel over.”

Silence met his words, then a smothered chuckle. “Then good riddance. Take the day, Richie, do something fun.”

“Thanks, Mac.” Rich disconnected the call, then put his motorcycle gear on and grabbed his keys.

The rain was a soft, insistent patter, but Rich was grateful that it wasn’t raining harder. He’d taught himself how to settle a Quickening by riding it out on his motorcycle. Though he knew other methods of dealing with it, this was his favorite way. The familiar challenge of throttle, clutch, gas, and traffic was a soothing counterpoint to the way his body hummed with newfound power. Almost unconsciously, he found himself at Jamal’s building, and parked in the now-familiar guest spot of the parking garage. Checking his watch, he saw it was almost the time Jamal had said he got up to go to work, and Rich smiled. Jamal was the perfect antidote for what had turned into a bad morning. Jamal’s building didn’t have a secured elevator, so it was a simple matter to head up to Jamal’s apartment.

Pulling out his phone, Rich dialed Jamal’s number.

“Hello?” Jamal said groggily.

“Morning,” Rich greeted. “Do you have time for breakfast?”

“Rich! Don’t you have to work this morning?” Jamal sounded abruptly awake.

“No, took the morning off, had some errands to run. Do you have time for breakfast?”

“As long as you don’t mind going to someplace other than Starbucks and you’re not that far away,” Jamal warned. “Where are you now?”

“Outside your door.”

“But – it’s raining, Rich. You rode in this?”

“Wanted to see you,” Rich said simply.

He heard a muttered curse, then the clatter of a phone dropping, another curse, then the call disconnected. Rich smothered a laugh and waited patiently, tucking his phone into his jacket. A few minutes later, Jamal opened the door.

Jamal had pulled on a robe and hadn’t bothered to comb his hair. Loving the way he looked, free of artifice, Rich leaned in and kissed him.

Jamal groaned and reached for him. Rich deepened the kiss, relishing Jamal’s eagerness, but the ping of the elevator reminded Rich that they were still standing in the doorway. Reluctantly, Rich eased back. “Morning, gorgeous.”

Jamal flushed and stepped back. “Men can’t be gorgeous,” he argued as Rich moved further into the apartment and shut the door behind him.

Rich grinned. “You are, especially now.”

Shaking his head, Jamal countered, “I haven’t even –”

Rich kissed him again. “I don’t care,” he said. Then he crooked a smile. “But if it makes you feel better, I’ll wait for you to get dressed and prettied up.”

Jamal stared at him for a long, wordless moment. “I thought you liked having sex in the shower.”

“I do,” Rich said, suddenly irritated by the question and not sure why it grated on him. “What, you thought I was here for a booty call?”

“You’ve never come here this time of day –” Jamal started, then shook his head. “Sorry. My last boyfriend used to do that. I didn’t think you wanted to.”

“Do you want to?”

Jamal paused, considering. Regretfully, he said, “Don’t think we’ll have enough time. I need to be at work for an 8:30 conference call.”

Rich kissed him softly, then stepped back. “Another time, then. Go ahead, do whatever you need to. I’ll just hang out here.”

Fifteen minutes later, Jamal had changed into a purple button-down shirt and khaki pants. “I don’t suppose you’re good at tying ties?” he asked Rich, stepping into the living room. “My company just started doing Tie Tuesdays, and my boss ribbed me about using a clip-on.”

Rich took the tie from Jamal’s hands, noting that it was a Jerry Garcia tie in an abstract pattern. “Step back this way,” he directed, until Jamal’s back was to him. Slipping the tie around Jamal’s neck, Rich took Jamal’s hands and directed him until the tie was in a proper knot. Stepping around him, Rich then straightened the tie. “Feel okay? Not too constricted?”

Jamal nodded. “Where’d you learn? My father always wore a clip-on when he had to appear in court.”

“Mac taught me,” Rich said. “Said a proper gentleman needed to know how to dress. Now, about breakfast?”

A short walk up the street later, Rich watched as Jamal completely missed the way the barista flirted with him. Feeling oddly proud to be with him, Rich slid his arm around Jamal, and said to the barista, “Sorry, but he’s with me.”

The barista’s smile widened. “Knew he had to be with someone,” she said easily. “All the good ones are. What would you like?”

“Just a regular drip,” Rich said easily, surprising Jamal.

“Didn’t you say you grew up here?” Jamal asked.

Rich flashed him a grin. “And this is why you won’t find me asking for a venti mocha double shot, extra whip, half caf, skinny, any time soon. I just want coffee.”

Jamal shook his head. "How anyone can drink it plain is beyond me."

Rich laughed, enjoying the moment. After the challenge this morning, he needed this, needed this slice of normal.

“You okay?” Jamal asked once they’d gotten their drinks and sat down. Jamal had ordered a breakfast sandwich as well; Rich had refused any food, aware that if he ate anything now, it wouldn’t stay in his stomach. “You look tired.”

“Couldn’t seem to get to sleep. Been driving around ever since I closed the bar.”

“Rich, that sounds dangerous,” Jamal said worriedly.

“I can take care of myself,” Rich snapped, and watched Jamal wince. Breathing in, Rich forced himself to relax. “Sorry. I get a little cranky when I’m like this.”

“Are you going to be able to sleep after having coffee?”

“Just need enough to get me home.” Rich tried for a smile, hating that he’d put such wariness and worry on Jamal’s face. “I promise I’ll call you when I get to my apartment, okay? I just needed to see you this morning.”

Jamal eyed him warily, then took a sip of his coffee. “Something’s on your mind, I can tell. What is it?”

“I’d rather not talk about it,” Rich said, and heard the annoyance in his tone. Jamal flinched as if punched. “Look, I’m sorry, Jamal. I’d better just go. I’m not good company this morning.”

“Rich, please, just stay. You don’t have to tell me anything, I swear.”

“Jamal, I’m not going to hit you because I’m annoyed or upset at something. I had a bad morning and I’m trying,” Rich strove for a level tone as he reached across the table to grip Jamal’s hands, “not to make it worse. I got hassled right after I closed Joe’s this morning, and I wasn’t expecting it.” Rich gave him a rueful smile. “I really, really hate having to prove myself to idiots.”

Jamal softened. “You’re usually so calm and controlled; I don’t think I’ve really seen you annoyed at anything before.”

“Yeah, well, it happens. I just wanted to celebrate the sunrise with you, forget about that idiot.”

All the wariness was wiped off Jamal’s face. “I’ve never had anyone do want to celebrate a sunrise with me before.”

Rich raised his coffee cup. “High time to start now, don’t you think?”

Laughing, Jamal touched his cup against Rich’s. “Absolutely.”

Yet Rich couldn’t shake the feeling that he was stealing this slice of normality, and the punishment for the crime was severe.

* * *

_June_

“You are a devious man,” Jamal complimented Rich as they sat at one of the tables at Joe’s. Admiration for his boyfriend’s skills coated his voice, and Jamal knew he’d never be brave enough or have the right connections to make it happen. The evening’s guest artist had just completed the first half of her set and was taking a break.

Rich laughed and toasted Jamal with his beer. “Happy birthday. I have connections from when I worked a club in Paris, so I thought I’d use them for the benefit of my friends. I’m glad it worked out to be on your birthday as well.”

“I’ll pretend like you planned it that way,” Jamal assured him. “Just being able to see my favorite blues guitarist live and in person – I thought I’d have to pay through the nose to get tickets. Who knew I’d just have to show up to a bar in Seacouver on the right night?”

“Who knew?” Rich echoed with a grin.

Jamal leaned over and kissed him. “Thank you for getting her to sing Happy Birthday to me. That made turning thirty-four worth it.”

“You’re welcome.”

“You’ve been working a lot of nights here lately,” Jamal noted. “Are you not getting enough hours at the dojo?”

Rich chuckled. “It’s not that. Joe just needed my help, but I could always use more for my Paris fund.”

“You’re planning on going to Paris?” Jamal asked, suddenly fearful of what that meant.

“Yeah, most of my stuff is stored there, and if I stay here, I need to figure out what I’m taking back.”

Relief flooded through Jamal at Rich’s words. “You lived there a long time, then?”

Rich nodded. “Four years this last time. The first time I went there, I was eighteen and all the words I knew were curse words that Tessa didn’t think I’d heard.”

Jamal laughed. “That’s the way I know Spanish. What other languages do you speak besides French?”

Rich grinned. “Enough to get me in trouble in at least four countries. Also, sex, food, gas, parts and repair for my motorcycle, and the location of the nearest bathroom.”

Laughing again, Jamal said, “That’s more fluent than I’d be.” He studied his boyfriend, struck suddenly by the way Rich looked: happy, confident, and completely at ease. “I can’t imagine traveling the world like you have, just with whatever you’ve been able to carry on your bike.”

“I didn’t have much choice when I started; all I had were my bike and my wits,” Rich said matter-of-factly. “But I’ve also learned I like being around people, especially people I care about.” He reached for Jamal’s hand and clasped it.

Jamal’s heart swelled and he swallowed the words that came instantly to his lips. Now wasn’t the place to say what he felt – he wanted privacy for that.

Later that night, cuddled in Rich's arms in the wake of spent passion, Jamal told him. "Thank you for a great birthday, Rich. You didn't have to go through all the trouble you did to make me happy. I love you."

In reply, Rich kissed him slowly. "My pleasure," he said, and quickly made Jamal forget that Rich hadn’t returned the words.


	4. Chapter 4

Rich was gone when Jamal woke the next morning, and Jamal bit back his disappointment. He kept hoping that Rich would stay whenever he was over. As Jamal sipped his coffee, he realized abruptly that he’d never been to Rich’s apartment. Rich had always met him at his apartment, or at the location where they’d be for that date. Frowning, Jamal considered what he knew about his boyfriend.

Rich had money, more than his part-time hours would indicate he could afford, and that was even taking the extra shifts he’d picked up at Joe’s into account. He hadn’t blinked at the amount of money they’d spent eating out every Friday night, and he hadn’t shied away from the city’s more upscale restaurants, either. While he seemed to prefer jeans and T-shirts, Rich wore better when they dined out, with a definite preference for fine fabrics and tailored shirts. From the motorcycle club party, Jamal knew that the good quality motorcycle gear wasn’t cheap, and Rich had mentioned that his armored jacket was custom-made.

Rich had spoken of living in Paris, of the perils of loading a motorcycle onto the ferry from Morocco to Spain, of working in Peru, and of racing in Mexico, among other places. Granted, a frugal motorcyclist could conceivably wind up with a well-stamped passport, but as Jamal thought about it, he also realized he didn’t know how old Rich was. Old enough to tend bar, sure, but Jamal thought it was strange that Rich hadn’t volunteered that little detail.

Not knowing Rich’s birthday and age seemed like petty details in the grand scheme of things, but stacked up against his apparent age – somewhere in his early twenties – and the experiences he claimed to have, something wasn’t adding up. If Rich’s boss and former guardian had taken him in at seventeen, then it didn’t seem feasible that Rich had been in Peru at the turn of the century, or old enough to be the operations assistant at a members-only club in Paris for four years. Granted, Rich could be older than Jamal thought, but Jamal didn’t understand why Rich wouldn’t even mention his age or his birthday. Clearly, the man loved to celebrate – they’d celebrated Jamal’s birthday, the ending of Jamal’s probationary period at work, and three weeks ago, Rich had insisted on celebrating the sunrise, surprising Jamal with an invitation for breakfast on a weekday. Yet for a celebratory occasion, Rich had been tense and annoyed, almost frightening Jamal with his temper.

The more Jamal thought about it, the more he realized that there was a lot he didn’t know. What he did know – that Rich had grown up in Seacouver, that he’d been in a gang, that he was always armed – made Jamal wonder just who the man he loved really was. What wasn’t Rich telling him? He’d seen Rich tense like a cat raising its hackles when they’d been out, but Rich had a million excuses, all revolving around his paranoia.

What possibly could a dojo assistant and bar manager have to be that paranoid about? Jamal wondered. Jamal knew his imagination was running wild, and decided that he’d swing by the martial arts studio later to get some answers.

* * *

Parking in the small paved lot behind the three-story building housing the martial arts studio, Jamal breathed a sigh of relief when he saw Rich’s motorcycle parked in the first slot nearest the back door. The black-and-yellow bike was unmistakable.

A note on the back door indicated that the front entrance should be used. The front door was unlocked, and Jamal stepped into a small lobby that held various items for sale in a glass case and a battered leather sofa. Just beyond the case was a small, windowed office, currently unoccupied, its door shut.

Signage indicated that the locker rooms were down the long hallway to his right, past what he assumed was the main studio proper. A sign was posted on the display case that said, “If no one is here, we are currently teaching a class. Please wait or return when the class is over. Registrations for classes are taken no later than fifteen minutes prior. Studio B is up the stairs between the locker rooms.”

Jamal didn’t have long to wait. The students spilled out into the hallway and lobby, becoming a sudden crush of humanity that, nearly as quickly as it had formed, dispersed. Rich was one of the last people to appear, talking in low tones to a tall man with olive-toned skin and short black hair. Both men wore sweat-stained gi; the stranger wore a master’s black gi. The stranger was the first to notice Jamal.

“Can we help you?” he asked.

Rich turned at his companion’s words, and he flashed a quick smile before stepping closer. “Jamal, what are you doing here?”

“Wanted to see you,” he replied simply. He wanted to say more, but he didn’t want the stranger he presumed to be Rich’s boss hearing it.

Rich’s smile widened and he kissed Jamal in greeting. “I’d hug you, but I’m too sweaty. Jamal, this is my boss, Duncan MacLeod. Duncan, this is Jamal. Jamal, give me a few minutes to get showered and changed, okay?” Not waiting for a reply, Rich headed down the hallway to the locker room.

Duncan smiled genially. “Anything I can help with?"

"No, I just wanted to see Rich. Thanks, though."

Duncan nodded understanding. "Nice to meet you; it’s always good to see Richie happy. Give us a few minutes?”

“Don’t let me keep you,” Jamal agreed. Duncan was a strikingly handsome man. Still, Jamal preferred Rich’s fair looks to Duncan’s dark handsomeness.

Fifteen minutes later, Jamal studied the Joe's-branded polo shirt and jeans Rich wore. “I was hoping we could go to Five Continents,” he said, naming the upscale, multi-cultural restaurant that stood out in the city as one of the few with a true dress code.

Rich eyed him. “Jamal, you need reservations for that place, as in, it’s Saturday night and we’d be lucky to even get into the bar. Also, I promised Joe I’d bartend tonight, so any dinner we have has to be quick. Besides, I left my suit in Paris.”

“Why Paris?”

Rich grinned. “Because that’s where I have storage space I don’t have to pay for,” he said lightly. “Come on, if you’re hungry, the Mexican place up the street is authentic and awesome.”

Jamal put a hand on Rich’s arm, stopping him. “No, I’m not hungry. I was just trying to see if you were willing to let me follow you home. You’ve never let me see your apartment; I don’t know where you live. Hell, I don’t know your birthday.”

“September 24.” Rich studied him a moment and sighed tiredly. “What’s with the questions, Jamal? I know I didn’t mention my birthday to you before, but –” he shrugged “– the last time I celebrated it was when I turned twenty-one. I quit making it a big deal after that. Why is it suddenly so important to you?”

Jamal didn’t quite have an answer for that, so he asked instead, “Why won’t you let me see where you live?”

“Because there’s nowhere safe to park your car,” Rich said impatiently. “And honestly, the area’s in transition, and the best part of it is that the rent’s cheap and the view from my apartment is amazing. Other than that, it’s not safe for you to be there.”

“Is that why you’re armed all the time?”

“One of the reasons, yes.” Rich sighed. “Look, I have to be at Joe’s, and it’ll take me twenty minutes to get across town. I promise I’ll answer any questions you have tomorrow at Joe’s, but I really need to get going.” Rich kissed him apologetically.

Jamal returned the kiss, aware that he hadn’t called first to see if Rich was available. “What time?”

“Eleven o’clock? The bar will just have opened.”

“I can go tonight,” Jamal offered.

“No, babe, I won’t be able to talk. I’m there to work.”

“Why don’t you and I get acquainted?” Duncan offered, stepping forward. He’d changed into a denim shirt and jeans, both of which looked like weathered favorites. “Richie, you’d better get going – there’s a game tonight at Seacouver Arena.”

Rich shot his boss a grateful smile and took the cue offered. “Be nice to him, Mac,” he called as he headed out the back door.

Jamal studied the other man, sensing a natural leader. Any other day, Jamal would be inclined to trust him, but Rich had limited his mention of the man, which made Jamal wary. “Rich doesn’t talk about you,” Jamal said neutrally.

Duncan smiled ruefully. “He and I are still getting over our last big fight, so I’m not surprised he hasn’t said anything about me. He’s a lot more private than he was when he was a teenager.” Duncan shrugged, looking resigned, as if he wished the situation were different. “Do you mind if I do a few things to close up? I can sweep and talk at the same time.”

“That’s okay,” Jamal decided, feeling as though he was intruding. “I’ll wait until tomorrow. Sorry to keep you.”

“If it helps,” Duncan offered, “Richie’s had his heart broken badly and it’s made him wary.”

“Thanks.” Jamal turned to leave, then stopped short of the door. Turning, he asked, “What did you fight about?"

"Richie thought I was wrong about something; turned out he was right, but I didn't believe him at the time." Duncan shook his head ruefully. "I thought he was too young to understand, and we both said and did things that were hard to forgive."

Jamal's eyes widened. “Was it when you were his guardian?”

Duncan shook his head. “It was much later. He was only my ward for a year; he was seventeen when we met.” Duncan’s lips curved in an easy smile. “He’s grown into an amazing man.”

Jamal acknowledged the words with a grateful nod, and then walked out the door. He’d gotten some answers, but he couldn’t shake the sense that he still didn’t know enough.


	5. Chapter 5

The following morning, Rich was in the midst of counting the take when Joe asked, “Do you think he’s worth it, kid?” The rest of the staff was gone; the front door was locked, and it was just the two of them in the office of Joe’s. “You’ve been seeing a lot of him lately, and he’s gonna want answers – the kind you aren’t used to giving.”

Rich stacked the last dollar bill and looked up from the pile of cash. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Jamal’s a good guy. If there’s anyone I ever could love like that, I think it could be him. Maybe? I just…” He shot Joe a look full of confusion. “I remember the way Anne Lindsey reacted – she ripped my heart out with her rejection, and I wasn’t in love with her. You know, I tried talking to her a few years after that.” Rich shook his head. “Big mistake. She said that she was sorry, but she didn’t want to invite any possible immortal trouble into her life anymore. Made me wonder what Mac had done this time. Tried to tell her I wasn’t him, but…” Rich sighed. “She’d made up her mind. I thought she was a friend.”

“She’s seen some of the worst of your kind. Not everybody handles that kind of news well,” Joe reminded him. “She’s a doctor; she won’t ever justify murder, even if the murderer saved her life in the process. Do you know what Jamal’s thoughts on that are?”

Rich sighed and began tabulating the cash against what the computer said should be the total. He’d already verified the credit cards and knew that the bar had had a good night. “I haven’t asked, but I get the impression he’d be like most people, wanting the law to handle things. He's talked about how he has to write things to meet standards and how he has to explain Coast Guard regulations to crew. I want to love him with all of my heart, I just…”

“Can’t see yourself tied down yet?”

“Not yet.”

“Then that’s your answer, kid.”

Rich sighed. “Well, that answer sucks,” he said as his fingers flew over the ancient calculator, making its printer sound like machine fire. He could do the math in his head, but it was late enough that he didn’t trust himself to miscalculate. “Nick and I managed three years without committing to anything more than fun. I mean, there was Sanctuary to run, and it seemed like someone was always challenging us as soon as we walked a block past the club, but –” Rich shrugged “– that was work that had to be done.”

Joe smothered a laugh. “You both knew what the score was, Richie. The guy you’re dating doesn’t even know he needs a playbook. Hell, the way he looks at you, you’re the best thing he’s ever had.”

“I’ve noticed, Joe. I just don’t know what to do about it. How do you get to be thirty-four without being with someone who cared about you? I mean, what about your first love, that sort of thing?” Rich looked down at the stack of cash to make sure he’d gotten all of the money counted, counting under his breath before he spoke again. “I can’t imagine being that sheltered.”

Joe chuckled dryly. “You haven’t had an easy life, kid. You knew more about life at six than most know at sixteen.”

Rich acknowledged that with a careless lifting of his shoulders. Satisfied that what the total he’d tallied matched what the computer said he should have, Rich began dividing the cash between what would be stored in the safe for the day’s operations and what Joe would deposit in the bank on his way home. “Have you ever considered telling someone you’re seeing what you do for the Watchers, Joe?”

“Yeah,” Joe acknowledged. “Then I realize I’m not willing to give it up, even after all the crap I’ve been through, for anyone. Not anymore. Hell, it’s hard enough to get a date when they realize I have no legs. If you really wanted to be with Jamal, you’re more than capable of it. I wouldn’t have said that before you managed to deal with Nick’s neuroses about being with another of your kind.”

Rich chuckled. “Easy enough, Joe; I happen to share a few of them.” He paused. “I just don’t want to break Jamal’s heart.”

“Can’t have it both ways, kid,” Joe said. “Either you tell him you’re not ready for that kind of commitment and he waits until you are, or you break it off while you’re still friends. If he waits, you’re going to have to tell him the rest of the story, and sooner rather than later. From what I’ve seen of the guy, he’s no Anne, and he’s sharp enough that you’re probably already overdue in telling him the truth. Hell, Richie, he’s one of your better choices; you’ve done a hell of lot worse.”

Rich looked up from the envelope into which he was stuffing cash and sighed. “Does it get any easier as you get older?”

Joe snorted. “You’re asking me? Talk to Mac if you want history. Speaking of older, it’s late and I’m not as young as I used to be. Follow me to the bank?”

“Planned on it, Joe. The gang signs I’ve been seeing around that branch worry me.”

“Budget cuts to the police force,” Joe told him dryly. “At least if you’re with me, they won’t try anything.” Joe heaved a sigh.

“You need a pickup service,” Rich told him. “You’re bringing in enough now that it’ll be worth the cost.”

Joe eyed him wryly. “So who have you signed me up with?”

Rich chuckled. “I’ll email you the quotes I got last week. I wasn’t going to move on any of them until you agreed.”

Joe shook his head. “When did you go and grow up on me, kid? I remember when you wouldn’t have even thought of something like that.”

Grinning, Rich replied, “It’s Connor’s fault. He got me to thinking strategically, and Rachel’s just insanely organized. Mac doesn’t like to change what he’s been doing, especially if it’s worked for the last fifty years.”

Joe groaned. “No wonder Nick didn’t know what hit him when you showed up.”

“He knows now.” Rich tore the calculator tape off, scrawled a figure on the back, and handed it to Joe, who immediately began writing out a deposit slip based on the number. “Do you need me to fill in again tomorrow?” Rich asked as he stored the remaining cash in the safe.

“If you can open up, I won’t need to call Lee in early,” Joe said, finishing his writing and putting the slip in the bag. Zipping it closed, he secured the lock on it and rose to his feet, grimacing at the ache in his stumps. “Lee’ll be in around eleven, and he can handle it from there. With any luck, Maggie will be well enough to work again. I’ll get the keys from you when I drop by the dojo on Monday. Sure I can’t steal you away permanently? You’ve gotten to be a damn good bar manager and a hell of a bartender.”

Rich laughed and accepted the keys Joe handed him before following him out of the office. “Ask me again in the fall, when Mac heads to Paris. I might take you up on it then.”

* * *

Jamal wasn’t sure what to expect when he pulled into the Joe’s parking lot. He saw Rich’s bike there along with a battered Subaru and a college-student special, its badging long since removed. Pulling his car to a stop next to the Subaru and shutting off the engine, Jamal took a moment to consider his appearance. He’d spent the night berating himself for pushing Rich – they hadn’t been together that long, and Rich hadn’t promised him more than he could deliver. As a result, Jamal hadn’t slept well.

Jamal shook himself and exited the vehicle. Trying the door, he found it open as promised. Rich was already at the bar, talking to the bartender. At Jamal’s entrance, the bartender looked up and then said something to Rich.

“Be right with you,” the bartender said. Rich rose from his seat to kiss Jamal hello.

“Glad you could make it,” Rich said. “We’ll be at table 30, Lee,” he told the bartender.

Leading the way to a back table, Rich took the seat facing the door. Lee arrived shortly after they sat down, bringing Rich a glass of the dark beer he favored and a glass of water for Jamal. “Can I get you anything else?” Lee asked.

“Not right now,” Jamal replied.

Rich waited until Lee had departed before speaking. He reached across the table to grasp Jamal’s hand briefly. “What do you want from me, Jamal?”

Jamal was startled by Rich’s directness. “I love you,” he replied. “I want to be with you, build a life together. I know it’s probably a little early in your life to be thinking long-term, but –”

“How old do you think I am, Jamal?” Rich interrupted.

“Twenty-three?” Jamal ventured.

Rich snorted. “I’m thirty-eight. I have good genes; I’ll always look young.”

“Young?” Jamal stared at him. “You’re older than me?”

“It’s only four years, not four hundred.”

“You let me believe you were younger.”

“Didn’t know you were making that assumption,” Rich said mildly. “Even if I was as young as you thought, would it change how you feel?”

“Of course not,” Jamal answered without hesitation.

“Really? Seemed like it would to me.”

“Only because you hid it from me,” Jamal snapped, annoyed. “It makes me wonder why.”

“Because how old I am doesn’t equal what I’m willing to do for someone I care about,” Rich shot back. “And I told you last night, I quit making a big deal out of my birthday.” He studied Jamal a moment before taking a sip of his drink. “Why now?”

Jamal blinked at him, confused.

“Why do you want to settle down now? For that matter, why me? You have a city full of people.”

“They’re not you,” Jamal replied passionately. “You’re who I want and I don’t want to spend another day without you. You made me feel welcome here, introduced me to people I would’ve never met without you. You’ve even got me thinking I need to take up martial arts again; you clearly love it.” Jamal leaned forward. “You just made me wonder how you could’ve packed so much living in what seemed like such short time. Now that I know you’re older than I thought, it makes more sense. I just don’t understand why you didn’t feel it was important to tell me that detail.”

“Because it isn’t,” Rich said evenly. “Haven’t you met someone who had the mental age of twelve, and no medical reason why?”

Jamal winced. “Yeah. One of my ex-boyfriends was like that.”

Rich inclined his head, as if to acknowledge the point. “Then why is my age important now?”

“Because it makes me wonder what else you don’t think is important,” Jamal said. “You act like you don’t care what happens in the world, as if the biggest thing in your life is what you do at the dojo and here.”

Rich sighed. “Because right now it is. I don’t have grand ambitions, Jamal. I just want to be happy doing something I love.” He took a sip of his beer, which made Jamal remember something else he’d wondered.

“How good is your alcohol tolerance? You never seem to get drunk.”

“It takes a lot to get me there,” Rich agreed. “And I never like being that out of control. Next question? Because I have a feeling you have a lot of them.”

Jamal studied his boyfriend a moment, seeing a harder edge to the man he’d only glimpsed before on Center Island and at that surprise breakfast. This Rich wasn’t the flirtatious, charming, easy-going man Jamal had fallen for; this man was someone different, someone more unreachable. Dread filled Jamal’s stomach. “You never talk about your childhood or who taught you the things you know.”

“My mom died of a heart attack when I was four years old,” Rich said flatly. “I went into the system. The last place I lived in was…let’s just say when he got drunk, he liked me a little too much, so I ran away. Got involved with a gang, started stealing things for money. Didn’t see the point in going to school.” He met Jamal’s eyes. “Most people feel sorry for me when I tell them that story, so I quit telling it. It’s not who I am now.”

“No, it’s not,” Jamal agreed, but Rich’s blue eyes were cold, distant.

“As for who taught me the things I know – Mac became my guardian when I was seventeen. He convinced the cops to drop the burglary charges in favor of taking me in. I gave him and Tessa hell that first week, trying to test the boundaries. He never wavered, never stopped believing that I was better than the street rat I’d been. He’s not the only teacher I’ve had since then, but he was the first.”

“He said you had a big fight and that he wasn’t surprised that you hadn’t talked to me about him.”

“I avoided him for more than a decade, and decided that I couldn’t avoid him forever. We have too many friends in common, starting with his cousin.”

Jamal stared at him, baffled. “Why weren’t you willing to share this information with me before? You know so much about me; you’ve listened to all of my stories, and I know I’ve told them at least twice.”

Rich took a deep breath. “Because I didn’t think it mattered, Jamal. I thought you just wanted someone steady and fun, someone who wasn’t going to run around on you, get mad at you for being less experienced at certain things, and who’d show you a good time.”

Jamal shook his head, wanting to deny the heartache he could see coming. “That’s not the only things I want from you, Rich. I love you and I was hoping you loved me too. Maybe I’m just pushing you too hard – if I am, I’m sorry, but I can’t imagine being without you.”

Rich shook his head. “If I don’t walk away now, I’m not sure you’ll be safe. I’m sorry, Jamal.”

Jamal stared at him, unable to comprehend what he was hearing.

Rich smiled at him sadly. “I know this isn’t want you want to hear. I could tell you came to the dojo last night hoping I’d tell you everything, that you’d started to wonder why I’ve been holding back on you. I wish I could give you what you want, Jamal, but I don’t think I can. ”

“Rich, if it’s time you need,” he began, but Rich was already shaking his head.

“I don’t think you want to wait that long,” Rich replied. “You’ve been talking about figuring out where to live, what the condo market is like. That’s the mark of a guy who’s putting down roots.”

“Don’t you want that?” Jamal asked, suspecting the answer was obvious but needing to ask it anyway.

“Not yet. I’m not ready to settle down,” Rich told him. “Not sure if I’ll ever be. I’ve already been in Seacouver longer than I thought I’d be, and it feels weird to me. Jamal, I can spend weeks, months even, on the back of my bike headed across the world, just seeing what’s out there. Do you really want to put up with that? Never knowing where I’ll be next, if I’m going to be able to call you, who I’m going to be with?” His gaze met Jamal’s squarely. “You already know I’m a flirt. I already know you have an imagination. Do you want to take that gamble, knowing that I’m perfectly capable of not telling you everything? I’ll break your heart more than I’m doing now.”

Jamal realized he was serious. “Is there nothing I can say to change your mind?”

“No,” Rich said with finality, and rose out of the booth. Jamal heard him bid goodbye to Lee and then, the distinctive rumble of his motorcycle.

Numbly, Jamal sat. He was unaware of time passing until Lee stopped by his table. “Can I get you anything? Shot of whiskey, maybe?”

“You’re his friend?” Jamal asked abruptly.

Lee shrugged. “He’s an operator, a little too smooth for my taste, but Joe trusts him. I don’t have to like him to work with him. Sorry.”

“Thanks anyway.” He paused. Drowning his sorrows in alcohol had never been that appealing, but as much as his heart hurt right now, maybe anesthetizing the pain was the way to go. He could taste the ashes of a dream in his mouth and realized that nothing would erase that. He closed his eyes and let out a breath before dropping a few dollars on the table to cover a tip, then rose to leave.


	6. Chapter 6

“You don’t look happy, Rich,” Nick noted three weeks later.

Rich sighed and ran a hand through his hair. As was their habit, the two men were on Skype: Nick on his laptop, Rich on his phone. “Neither do you. Are you okay? You didn’t call last week and I had to work at Joe’s and the dojo, so I didn’t have time.”

Looking pale and tired, Nick sighed. “Moving to Portland’s looking less likely. I need to get back to Paris. Looks like you were right about me not being able to be off Holy Ground for too long. Cory’s talking to Matthew, trying to see if we can undo what I did to my Quickening.”

Rich swore. “Damn it, Nick, why the hell did you use your blood when you had Father Liam bless the place?”

Nick shrugged roughly. “Didn’t intend to, believe me. Liam made me trip, which makes me think he did it deliberately. At the time, I thought nothing of it. What happened to me last fall only seems to have magnified the effect – I would’ve felt this eventually.” He shook his head. “Never mind me. You seemed happy the last time we talked. What happened with Jamal?”

“He said he loved me.”

Nick said nothing for a moment. “Well, we’ve established he has good taste. What’s wrong with him? He doesn’t understand your boundaries? Wants to be bit, slapped, handcuffed, and call you Mistress?”

That drew a reluctant smile from Rich. “No.”

“Then what?” Nick pressed. “No, wait, let me guess. He’s only after you for your money and thinks you’re the fabulously wealthy Richard Redstone.”

Rich managed a strangled laugh, abruptly aware he should’ve never told his sometime lover that story. “No.”

“Okay,” Nick said, grinning, “so you know better than try that one again. He’s too vanilla for you? No, that can’t be it. I know what you like.” Nick smiled wickedly, remembering. “Hmm, so that leaves: he’s not one of us, and smart enough to realize you’re really good at not telling someone your whole life story.”

Rich rubbed his forehead tiredly. “Yeah.”

“So?” Nick pressed. “If he’s intrigued you this long, he’s not your typical guy.”

“Nick, he has a good job, the kind you need a college education for. He lives a normal life. He’s talking about condos and if I let this run another six months, he’ll be talking about getting married, forget about living together, he’ll go straight for the whole damn thing.”

“Would that be such a bad thing?”

“You know I’m a thief, trying to go straight again.”

“That didn’t answer my question,” Nick noted. “Do you want to be loved by him?”

Rich closed his eyes. “I don’t want him to live like Tessa did,” he said, a wealth of emotion in his voice. “Waiting for me to come home, waiting to see if this is the day I find someone younger and prettier, and you know what she told me? She never regretted giving up her life for Duncan, because he gave her the world.”

“How do you know that Jamal doesn’t feel the same way?” Nick asked reasonably. “Does he know about immortals yet?”

“No.”

Nick eyed Rich, his gaze narrowing. “Have you ever loved someone who wasn’t one of us?”

Rich gave him a bittersweet smile. “Yeah. Twelve years ago; it lasted six months.”

“What happened?”

“She said she didn’t love me the same.” Rich ran a tired hand through his hair. “I know it’s different this time, but I don’t want to go through that again.”

“Do you love him?”

Rich closed his eyes briefly. “If I set him free, does that count?”

“Idiot,” Nick admonished him. “Go call him and grovel. You love him too much already. You always eat less and sleep less when you’re stressed. Is Duncan on your case about him?”

“No. He likes him. They’ve only met once.” Rich shrugged. “I’ve been trying to keep Mac out of my personal life; he’s singing the ‘go to college, do something more with your life, Richie’ song again. Joe’s seen me with Jamal more.”

“What does Joe think?”

“That Jamal’s a good man.”

Nick sighed impatiently. “Aren't you the one who convinced me I should take a chance on Cory?”

"That's different. You need someone older and more experienced, someone who understands chivalry the way you live it. Besides, Cory's one of us."

"That’s me,” Nick agreed. “You – you need a reason to come home, someone who won’t vanish on you the way we can, someone who isn’t as jaded about life. From the way you've talked about him, I think Jamal can handle the truth."

Rich rubbed his forehead tiredly. “I don’t know, Nick. I just wanted fun and something steady, with a gorgeous, intelligent guy. Kind of the same thing I had with you.”

“Did you tell him that up front or any time after that?”

“No.”

“Then it’s no wonder he fell in love with you,” Nick said impatiently. “You didn’t set his expectations.”

“Didn’t think I had to,” Rich said. “I could tell he wasn’t very experienced, but nobody’s ever treated him with the respect he deserves outside of work. I didn't think that would make him more likely to fall in love with me.”

“Rich, a guy like that is going to be halfway in love with you the first time you take him to bed, just because you didn’t unzip your pants and make him suck you off as soon as you found someplace private,” Nick said dryly.

Rich swore. “You couldn’t tell me that a few months ago?”

“You didn’t look like you needed advice.” At Rich’s glare, Nick sighed and said, “Look, most people get married in their late twenties, early thirties. Even if he’s been gay forever, Jamal’s probably had this dream that he’d find the right guy, settle down, maybe have a couple of kids somehow someway, and it would happen before he was forty. Then he meets you, and you – you don’t want to play the one-night stand game anymore. From the way Cory and you have talked, you did a lot of that in the last three years, though how the hell you two managed that while pulling off your crazy scheme is beyond me.”

“Easy. We took turns sleeping.”

Nick shook his head. “Why am I not surprised,” he said dryly. “Rich, hang up the phone and go get your guy. You stayed with me for four years, you’ve been my best friend for three more on top of that, and I know I’m not an easy man to deal with, in and out of bed. What’s got you so rattled about Jamal?”

“Because he’s got a heart like Tessa’s,” Rich said, grief underscoring his voice. “You know how much of a target I am; you’ve seen it. And Jamal just started a new job here after being unemployed for a year, the kind of job where he can’t just pick up and move to Paris or anywhere I’d want to go if it all goes to hell.”

“At least give the man a chance to tell you he can’t deal with the truth,” Nick suggested. “Because when your heart’s this messed up, you’re more likely to get a little reckless. You’re like me in that regard, and I’m not the only one interested in keeping you around.”

Rich didn’t say anything, just looked heartsick.

Gently, Nick said, “If Tessa could come back and tell you anything, what would she say?”

Rich laughed hollowly. “She’d yell at me for being so damn protective.” He looked away from his screen a moment before taking a deep breath. “Nothing ventured, nothing gained, right? You sure you don’t need my help?”

“Positive,” Nick said, and hung up before Rich could say anything more.

Rich stared at the phone a moment, then started making plans. If he was going to put his heart and life on the line, he needed to do it right the first time. He needed to talk to someone first, though.

* * *

Richie stared at the brick bungalow at the end of a dead-end street and took a deep breath. He’d taken a long motorcycle ride, trying to work it out in his head, only to turn around when he realized this wasn’t something from which he could run. No matter where he’d go, no matter what decision he made about Jamal, Rich needed answers only Mac could give. Rich had deliberately parked a few blocks away, needing the walk to gather up the courage to talk to the man he’d come to see. For a moment, he wished Mac hadn’t been so insistent about what he expected Rich to do; it made Rich dig his heels in and just refuse to change. Rich had spent the better part of a decade convinced that keeping the older immortal at arm’s length was not only a safer route, but also a saner one.

If Methos hadn’t shot him with a tranquilizer that fateful day that Mac had been going on and on about being named a Champion, Rich knew he’d be dead. He’d heard about how the poor groundskeeper had been decapitated, how Mac believed he’d killed Rich, and how Mac had retreated to holy ground for a year afterwards. Rich was certain of one thing: he’d been sitting in a café trying to convince Joe and Methos that Mac was right, and the next thing he knew, he was in New York with Connor, recovering from the worst drug-related hangover he’d ever had.

The whole scenario had messed with his head for a while. Then Mac had shown up in Paris, ten years later, upset that Rich hadn’t bothered to stay in touch. It had taken months of negotiations before Rich had been willing to agree to help Mac launch his newest dojo off the ground. Now, nine months later, the dojo was a success, but Rich had deliberately kept his former teacher at arm’s length, not wanting to let Mac into his personal life.

Only one person knew the answers to the questions Rich had, and that meant opening the door to the past, letting Mac into his current one. Aware that by now Mac would have felt his presence, Rich took a deep breath and rang the doorbell.

Duncan opened it warily, sword concealed by the doorframe. The look of stunned surprise turned quickly to wary pleasure and Rich let a grin rise to his lips. “Hi, Mac. I hope I’m not coming at a bad time?”

“No, you’re always welcome here. I didn’t know you knew where I lived.”

“I needed your home address for some of the permits we had to get for the dojo renovation,” Rich reminded him.

“Everything okay, Richie?” Duncan asked, allowing Rich entrance into the living room and shutting the door behind him.

Rich’s grin widened. “You’re the only one other than Joe who calls me that these days.” He looked around at the completely renovated interior. “You know, there’s one thing I can never imagine you’d live with.”

“What?” Humor laced Duncan’s voice.

“Interior walls.” Rich grinned. “Nice to know you still like the open floor plan.” He came to a stop in front of the couch as Duncan slid his sword into the umbrella stand by the door.

Duncan studied his former student. “You never wanted to come here before.”

Rich shrugged. “Didn’t need to. I’ve always liked this neighborhood; when I was eight, I got to stay with a really nice family a block from here for a year.”

“What happened?” Duncan asked, sounding like he suspected what the answer was.

Rich sighed. “I learned to swear at eight. Remember how I used to try to talk my way through everything? Now imagine me at eight, full of bravado and sure I knew better than them. They were the kind of parents who wouldn’t hit a kid, and putting me in timeout just made me angrier.”

Duncan groaned. “They deemed you uncontrollable.”

Rich nodded. “Yeah.” He paused. “Can we talk about something?” Feeling oddly nervous, Rich stuck his hands in his pockets and hoped he hadn’t done so good of a job of keeping his former teacher at arm’s length that Duncan wasn’t willing to talk with him.

As if he’d been granted an unexpected wish, Duncan relaxed noticeably. “Sure,” Duncan said, moving to the kitchen. “I was just about to make lunch. Do you want anything?”

Rich shook his head and sat down at the breakfast bar. “Go ahead. I’m not hungry.”

“Now I know something’s wrong. You’re always hungry.” Duncan studied him, and Rich knew he was seeing the weariness that Rich had tried to shrug off at the dojo the past few weeks. “Are you sleeping at all? Is someone hunting you?”

“Nothing like that, Mac.” Rich was annoyed at the suggestion. “If they were, I would’ve led them elsewhere or taken the fight to them. Nice house, by the way.”

“Thanks. It’s just you’ve been tired the last few weeks, and I remember the last time you looked like this –”

“— someone was hunting me to get to you,” Rich finished, his hands underscoring his annoyance at the reminder. “I know better. It’s just I’ve had a lot of stuff on my mind.”

“You’re not staying in Seacouver,” Duncan guessed.

Rich shook his head. “Not leaving yet, but there’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you. Why did you put up with Anne’s questions and her rejection? You didn’t love her, not at first anyway, and you lied to her about dying. I mean, I know you gave her the house just to see that one moment where she was so happy with you that you were the best person ever, but I still don’t understand why you gave her the chance to break your heart.”

Caught off guard by the question, Duncan took a moment to answer. “I loved her,” he replied steadily, putting the ingredients for lunch down on the counter. “It wasn’t the same as I felt for Tessa, but I could see where it might one day be, given enough time. Then I got reminded of how short life could really be, and I didn’t, couldn’t, imagine being without her to make that time sweeter.” Duncan studied Rich a moment. “When I talked to you in Paris four years ago, you had me convinced that you and Nick Wolfe had something real. What happened there?”

Rich shrugged. “Neither of us wanted more than what we had, and we’re friends. It’s easier with someone who’s one of us.”

“Easier in some ways, but worse in others,” Duncan countered. “I love Amanda, but I know her too well now. As much as I’d love to be able to be with her for the next decade or so, I can’t cage her like that; she’d go crazy.”

Rich chuckled softly at that. “Yeah.”

“Some people are worth all the risks, Richie. It doesn’t matter how long of a lifespan they have,” Duncan noted quietly. “You looked so happy to see Jamal when he showed up at the dojo a few weeks ago.”

“He wants the dream I’ve never let myself have, Mac. You and Tessa set the example of how it could work.”

Duncan said nothing for a moment, then sighed. “You can’t live your life avoiding love because of what happened with Tessa and Anne. The only thing you can do is take the chance that it’ll be worth every minute you spend with that person, regardless of how or when it ends.” He studied the younger immortal before asking, “If someone was hunting for you and targeted Jamal, would it change how you feel about him?”

“No.” Rich didn’t hesitate, then stared at Duncan. “That’s why you put up with Anne,” he said with dawning realization. “Because you cared enough to try and see where it would go.”

Duncan nodded. “Love is what makes the fighting worth it, Richie. If you don’t have that to come home to, it’s a very lonely, depressing life. However, it starts with being honest – brutally honest, not just the bits you think are worth sharing. That includes the danger to him and you both, and why you weren’t willing to let him know before.”

Rich absorbed that statement for a few minutes before changing the subject, needing the time to decide whether he needed to ask more questions. Duncan let him steer the conversation to safer topics while they ate lunch.

Just before Rich got up to leave, Duncan caught his attention. “Take the chance, Richie. Even though it didn’t work out with Anne, I wouldn’t take back the time we had together. And thanks for coming to talk to me.” He chuckled ruefully. “You haven’t wanted to talk to me about anything personal; I was starting to believe you didn’t need me for anything. I thought if I got you to come here, I could…” Duncan shrugged helplessly. “Teach you what I didn’t, the first time. That two-on-one fight you won back in February was the first time it really registered you’ve been training with other people.”

Rich met his gaze. “I tried to tell you that in Paris four years ago, Mac, but you were on such a tear about everything I apparently hadn’t done I wasn’t sure it registered. When I came out here and you started harping on me to go to school, suggesting that we spar more, it pissed me off that you didn’t seem to respect who I’d become without your influence. I decided it was easier if I just kept you at a distance.” He took a deep breath and exhaled it slowly. “But there are some things I can’t talk about with anyone else because they weren’t there.”

Duncan smiled ruefully. “You let me believe you’ve done nothing since you quit Sanctuary and left Paris, but that’s not true, is it?”

Rich shook his head, aware they’d been building to this moment, and the time to hold back was long gone. “I was attacked in Boston by a Hunter and his pet psycho. It made me wonder if there were more.”

Looking equal parts resigned and horrified, Duncan stated, “You found more.”

“Hate breeds hate,” Rich said with a tired shrug. “Cory and I found the source and neutralized it, but it took us the better part of three years.”

Duncan stared. “Cory Raines? I thought you didn’t want anything to do with him?”

Rich grinned. “I was wrong.” Rich snickered at the look of horror on his former teacher’s face. “And yes, we got into trouble, but it was fun. He’s like a big brother to me now.”

Duncan groaned. “Do me a favor, Richie? If you two decide to team up again, would please give me a warning so I know where not to be?”

Laughing, Rich said, “And that’s why I haven’t told you what I’ve been doing the last few years. I knew you wouldn’t approve.” More seriously, Rich added, “I know who I am and what I want to do with my life. I don’t need your approval to do it, Mac. I quit looking for it more than a decade ago. I came here to get the dojo going because I didn’t want to spend the rest of my life feeling like I was running away from you.”

Duncan blew out a breath, acknowledging the truth of Rich’s words. “I’m sorry, Richie. Joe kept telling me I should just leave you alone, that you were happy. I didn’t want to believe him; needed to see it for myself.”

“Something told me that was the case.” Rich paused. “I’m not sure I’ll ever be comfortable enough to spar against you, Mac. Connor, sure, but not you. I see you raising a sword against me and I’m reminded of things we’d both rather forget happened.”

Duncan winced, but nodded his acceptance. “I hope you stay, Richie, and that things work out with Jamal. If there’s anything I do to help, maybe talk to Jamal and answer any questions he has…?”

The younger immortal nodded once, then shrugged into his motorcycle jacket. “I’ll let you know.”


	7. Chapter 7

Jamal was tired. He’d spent the better part of a week crawling around the depths of a cargo barge in New Orleans, measuring various parts to see if they matched the as-built drawings and could fit new equipment. His head was full of all the things he needed to write up, which was a welcome change from the heartache and confusion he’d been feeling. He still didn’t completely understand why Rich had broken up with him; from the way Rich had acted, Jamal had believed that Rich cared about him and wanted the same things he did. Talking to Joe hadn’t helped much, either; Joe couldn’t offer any insight other than Rich had been in some bad relationships. With a sigh, Jamal leaned against the wall of the elevator as it carried him up to his apartment.

Stepping out of the elevator, he trudged down the hall and unlocked the door, intent on dumping his luggage in the living room to be dealt with later and getting a shower. Then he realized that the lights were on, and he had a guest.

Rich stood in his L-shaped kitchen, adding potatoes, mushrooms, and rosemary to a cast-iron skillet Jamal knew he didn’t own. Already, the smell of chicken, lemon, and garlic was strong in the air, and Jamal’s stomach growled. Rich turned at Jamal’s entrance, and grinned. “I was hoping I timed that right.”

“How’d you get in?” Jamal demanded.

Rich shrugged. “Let’s see, a security guard who’s used to seeing me around and a cheap deadbolt?” He smiled. “I thought about calling you, but figured you might hang up on me.”

“How’d you know when I’d be home?” Jamal asked warily.

“The receptionist at your company told me when I showed up there two days ago, looking for you. She took pity on me when I told her I’d screwed up and needed to apologize to you. Sorry if I startled you.”

Jamal stared at him, unable to believe that Rich had broken into his apartment. “Why are you here?”

Rich put the skillet in the oven and stepped closer. Looking directly at Jamal, he said ruefully, “Because I was trying to protect both of us, and didn’t realize I’d fallen in love with you until after I’d walked away.” More briskly, he said, “Go, take a shower. I remember you said you always take one after flying. This is going to need twenty minutes to finish cooking anyway. I’ll still be here, and we can talk. Or I’ll talk and you can listen. Either way, I'd like to say a few things, and I’d rather do it over food, here, than anywhere else.”

“You cook?” Jamal asked, aware he was sounding stupid.

Looking amused, Rich smothered a chuckle. “Yes, but not often. I hate doing it, but nobody makes this recipe in a restaurant, and it’s always better to cook for more than one person.”

Jamal hesitated, then, with one last look to see if Rich would disappear on him, headed to the shower, absently dragging his suitcase along with him. At the last minute, Jamal realized he’d brought it into the bathroom with him, and hastily put it in his bedroom before grabbing clean clothes.

Knocked completely off-balance by Rich’s presence, it took Jamal several tries before he got himself under control enough to take a thorough shower. He didn’t understand why Rich was here now; he’d thought that Rich had made his position quite clear, even if Jamal didn't grasp the logic. Yet here he was, saying the words that Jamal had hoped to hear.

Twenty minutes later, showered and dressed in a button-down shirt and jeans, Jamal walked out find that the small table had been set for two. Rich pulled out the skillet from the oven, filling the apartment with the delicious smell of rosemary chicken, and made quick work of plating the dish. He then set the skillet back on the stove and waited for Jamal to sit down before he took a seat.

For several minutes, neither man said anything as both dived into the meal. Jamal was grateful for the incredible taste of the food as a focus, and once he’d eaten more than half of his portion, he broke the silence. “Where did you learn to cook this?”

“Mac taught me to cook,” Rich said. “But it was Tessa’s idea. She was so determined that I knew something more than how to steal. I got my GED because she insisted I study and take the test. She said that if I could pick up French as easily as I did, there was no reason I couldn’t pass.”

Jamal eyed Rich warily. “You've never stuck me as being unintelligent.”

Gently, Rich said, “In my head, I’ll always be the thief I was when I was seventeen, trying to go straight. I like not having to look over my shoulder, but there are occasionally compelling reasons.”

“Such as?” Jamal couldn’t fathom what they’d be.

“Such as needing to protect my friends from worse dangers,” Rich said simply. “If you found out that your entire life was being watched and some of the people watching wanted to kill you, wouldn’t you want to do something?”

“You couldn’t call the police?”

“Some of them _were_ the police,” Rich said grimly. Reaching across the table, he said, “Please understand, Jamal, that the life I live is dangerous. I don’t want you to be hurt. That’s why I walked away.”

“The people who watch you…are they watching me too?”

“Not yet. I didn’t want you coming to my place or the dojo because then they’d really take an interest in you, try to figure out why you mattered to me.”

Jamal took a bite and chewed slowly, trying to digest what Rich was saying. “You’re not part of some criminal organization, are you?”

“No,” Rich said, looking amused. “We’ll come back to that in a minute. I want to see where we go together, Jamal, for however long we have. I’m not loaded for money, but I’m set for a while as long as I’m careful. I didn’t lie about what I do for a living; I just didn’t tell you all of it. I’m part of a holding company that operates clubs in Paris and in Majorca; I draw a small residual salary from it. That’s how I’ve been able to afford going out as much as we have been.”

“Supposing I say yes to you coming back into my life,” Jamal said carefully, “what guarantee will I have that you’ll be more truthful with me?”

“You won’t,” Rich said honestly. “All I can promise is to try to be more open with you. I’ve missed you, I love you, and living without you is just not working for me." He took a deep breath. "Can we try again, please?”

Jamal eyed him warily. Part of him wanted desperately to forgive Rich for walking away. “Why? All you’ve said so far makes me think that I’d be safer alone.”

Rich winced. “Maybe,” he admitted. “I’m too used to keeping secrets, Jamal, so much so it doesn’t feel right to tell anyone anything.” He shook his head and rose, looking disgusted with himself. “I’ll just clean this up and get out of your hair.”

Jamal stared at him as he awkwardly dealt with the dishes and slid the pan into a paper bag, which he then stuffed into a backpack. Rich seemed so graceless, so convinced that he’d screwed up, that Jamal’s heart ached. He’d fallen in love with a charming, supremely self-assured man, who’d made Jamal believe that he was finally worth loving. To see the same man fumbling made Jamal realize just how much Rich was revealing.

“Let me get this straight,” Jamal said, breaking the silence that had fallen. “You’re in danger in some way, and you think I’m at risk just because of my association with you. If you were to leave now, does that lessen the risk to zero?”

Rich was in the midst of trying to zip up the backpack and he stopped. Closing his eyes briefly, he said, “I can’t be sure of that.”

“Why, Rich? What’s so dangerous that you’re willing to lie to me just to protect me?”

Rich rose from where he’d knelt to close the backpack and studied Jamal a moment. “Do you believe in magic? Not like David Copperfield stuff, but the stuff they talk about in myths and legends.”

“Just because no one’s proved it doesn’t mean it can’t happen,” Jamal replied. “Some of the projects I’ve worked on in my career are things people said couldn’t be built.”

Rich took a deep breath. “This is something else entirely,” he said, and drew out one of his knives from the jacket he’d been about to don. Putting the jacket aside, he said, “If you decide you don’t want to be with me after this, I won’t bother you again.”

Alarmed, afraid of what Rich was going to do, Jamal moved closer. “What…what are you planning to do with that?”

Without warning, Rich laid open his left forearm. Blood welled up in the wound as he swore at the pain. Horrified, Jamal stood, frozen, unable to move. Before the wound could drip profusely, however, something magical happened: small bolts of lightning began to stitch the wound closed.

As if pulled by an invisible string, Jamal stepped closer to examine Rich’s arm. A small smear of blood remained, easily wiped away with a finger, and touching it, Jamal knew Rich had bled. Yet no scar was visible.

“I just saw you…What are you?”

“Immortal,” Rich said quietly, and Jamal’s eyes flew to his face, hearing a note of something equal parts sad and proud in the single word. “My name is Richard Ryan, and I was really born here in Seacouver. My first death was at nineteen.”

“How…you died? But you’re here, alive and breathing. How is that possible?”

Rich breathed deep, and Jamal saw echoes of old pain in his eyes before Rich picked up a dishtowel and wiped the knife clean. “Magic, like I said, something I was born with.”

Jamal stared at him, horrified and fascinated.

Something in his expression made Rich pull back. “It’s a lot to take in,” he said neutrally. Jamal could almost feel Rich putting up defenses in preparation for rejection. “I didn’t believe it the first time I saw it either.” Rich sheathed the knife back into his jacket and continued to get ready to leave.

Jamal couldn’t let him walk out the door. He had the awful sense that if Rich left now he’d keep going until Jamal couldn’t reach him. “Wait,” he said, moving to block the door. “You can’t just dump this on me and leave. It’s so…unreal, like a movie.”

Rich closed his eyes and shuddered. When he met Jamal’s gaze, Jamal nearly cried at the bleak, resigned, bitter knowledge he saw on Rich’s face. “It’s not,” he said flatly. “It’s my life.”

“Just…give me a few minutes, okay? You said you didn’t believe this when you first learned about it. How do you expect me to?” Jamal demanded, irritated. He prided himself on being able to analyze situations quickly, a skill he’d cultivated in order to be a better engineer, but the scope of this was too much and he didn’t feel like he had enough information.

Rich said nothing, but set down the backpack he’d picked up and waited.

“Why the fuck did you think I wasn’t worth telling this to before?” Jamal demanded, the anger surging through him as he realized the scope of Rich’s deceit. “Do you think I was incapable of handling the truth?”

“No,” Rich shot back. “I was scared of how you’d react. My last long-term relationship was with someone like me, someone who didn’t need explanations and who wasn’t looking for love. The more time I spent with you, the more I wanted to pretend as if I would never have to tell you anything. I’m used to keeping secrets, Jamal, and maybe I keep them a little too well or maybe I’ve just spent too many years around my own kind. The last time I was with someone long-term who wasn’t immortal was twelve years ago, and it didn’t work out the way I wanted.”

Jamal stared at him, his anger slowly dissipating as he began to understand. “Is it taboo to fall in love with someone who’s not immortal?”

“No,” Rich said, shaking his head. “We just don’t always tell them, for a million different reasons.” He laughed hollowly. “I thought if I broke it off with you, I could walk away with my heart intact. Turns out I can’t.”

Taking a deep breath, Rich moved in front of Jamal. “I’m still me, Jamal. I’m not a monster, I don’t know how to make special effects, and what makes me immortal is not something I can cut out and share with you or anyone.”

Horrified at the implication, Jamal stared at him. “Someone actually thinks that you could? But…but that’s not how magic works. Even the pharaohs could only pray they did enough to be immortal, and if you ask me, they did a hell of a job that we’re still talking about them centuries after they died.”

“I’m no pharaoh,” Rich told him, the edges of a smile tugging at his lips. “And I can’t explain immortality any better than ‘magic.’ I know you’re more apt to believe in science and things you can engineer, but –”

“No one who deals with the ocean can believe strictly in science,” Jamal interrupted him. “I’ve always been convinced that there’s more at work than what we believe we know. Maybe that’s the Egyptian in me. I believe you, Rich, and I think I’m starting to understand why you wanted to shield me from this. Nobody believes in magic anymore. If they discovered someone like you, they’d want to dissect you to figure out what made you tick. If there’s any way I can do it, I won’t let them. Rich, you made me believe that I’m worth loving. When you walked away, I…I didn’t know what to think. All I knew was that you were everything to me, and living wasn’t the same without you. Whatever it takes, I want to be with you. Mind, it might take me a while to wrap my brain around this whole immortality thing, but if it means you’re in my life, I’ll be happy.”

For a long, wordless moment, Rich said nothing. At the look of wary hope on his face, Jamal stepped closer and took him in his arms. “I love you, Rich. I know what you just told me is crazy, but you’ve never lied directly to me. You’ve been so careful not to tell me anything so you wouldn’t have to lie that I know whatever you tell me is true.” Rich’s arms reached around Jamal’s waist in response and Jamal could feel the shudders of relief that cascaded through him.

Rich leaned back and kissed him softly. “I love you, Jamal.” He stepped back. “Do me a favor, babe? Sleep on this, and call me tomorrow. I don’t want you thinking that I pushed you.”

“Rich –”

“I’m not going to do anything stupid, like leave town. I just know that when that lovely brain of yours catches up to your heart, you’re going to have a lot of questions.” He pressed a kiss to Jamal’s lips, then picked up the backpack and waited for Jamal to step away from the door.

“Stay,” Jamal pleaded. “I’ve missed you. If you leave, I’m scared you won’t come back. You’ll vanish like some genie.”

Rich’s gaze softened. “Being immortal doesn’t give me that kind of power, as much as I might wish it did sometimes.”

Jamal stared at him, feeling as though he’d run through a gamut of emotions. All he knew for sure, though, was that being with Rich was what mattered. “Tomorrow, I’ll have more questions, I’m sure. Tonight, I just want to be with you. I’ve missed you so much.”

Rich smiled, but didn’t move from where he stood.

Jamal had rarely taken the initiative, loving the way Rich took charge. Now, he moved closer and kissed Rich, letting his mouth and body speak for him. He wanted to erase the fear he sensed, wanted to feel again Rich’s expert touch.

“I don’t want to live without you,” Jamal said in between kisses. “This last month has been hell without you. I had a million things I wanted to tell you and you weren’t there to listen.”

“It’s not going to be easy,” Rich warned. “Some immortals want to kill the rest of us, and anyone associated with them. It’s a dangerous life.”

“Then I’ll take that risk,” Jamal said.

Rich smiled, but tears were in his eyes. “I hope you don’t regret that,” he said, wrapping his arms around Jamal. “Come on, it’s late, and we both need sleep. We’ll talk more tomorrow.”


	8. Chapter 8

“So if you can’t die, who’s after you?” Jamal asked the following day. After they’d gone for breakfast and returned to Jamal’s apartment, Rich had entertained himself with yet another luridly covered novel while Jamal finished his work. Jamal had already scheduled to take the day off to recuperate from his trip; Rich made his excuses to Mac.

“Mostly other immortals, but mortals have hunted us as well, thinking we’re demons,” Rich said. “Immortal’s not a precise term. Cut off my head and I’ll die permanently. The preferred weapon is a sword, but a sheet of glass or an explosion will suffice.”

“Other immortals?” Jamal stared at him. “But why? Are you in some kind of civil war?”

“That’s one way of thinking,” Rich agreed.

“But if you could live forever, the things you could know – you might know how the pyramids were built, how the shipping trade flourished between continents when history said it couldn’t have possibly happened, things that could help the world.”

Rich nodded somberly. “Think about it, Jamal. We’re people, too. Some of us have longer histories, but we have good and evil among us. If you could gain more knowledge and power by taking someone’s head, would you?”

Jamal’s eyes dropped automatically to Rich’s hands, remembering how they’d been stained with blood from the cut he’d made on his arm. He couldn’t see those same hands taking someone’s life, not after knowing how they’d touched him in passion. “I don’t think so,” Jamal said. “I can’t see you doing it, but you have. From the sound of your voice, the look on your face, I can tell it’s not been just once, but multiple times.”

“Sometimes, I’ve had no choice. It was either them or me.”

“What happens if this war of yours is won, will there be peace?”

“Jamal,” Rich said gently, “if an immortal wins the war – the Game as we call it – then no more immortals are alive to see what happens. If the world is lucky, a good person won and peace and prosperity will follow. If not, eternal darkness will be the rule of the day.”

Jamal stared at him. “Only one? Only one of you left in the entire world? That...that’s genocide. And you hope that whoever wins is good? What kind of delusion is that?”

Rich chuckled humorlessly. “The only one I have that makes any sense to having to fight to stay alive.”

Jamal rose from his seat on the couch to pace away from Rich, needing the movement to digest what Rich had said. “Do you know how many there are of your kind left?”

Rich shook his head. “No. Some weeks it’s felt like we’re down to the last ones standing, but my gut says we’re probably more numerous than we think.”

Jamal tried to make sense of it. “I don’t understand. You wanted to protect me from knowing this. Why tell me now?”

“Because if I want to love you for as long as we have together,” Rich began, “then you’ll face what loving me, an immortal, really means. I saw what it did to women I cared about, and I didn’t want that happening to you. I also know how it feels to wonder if the immortal I cared about was coming home, if I’d ever know what happened to him.”

Hearing an odd note in Rich’s voice, Jamal turned. “Is that why you didn’t want to tell me? You were afraid for me?”

Rich nodded. “I spent a year with an immortal, watching him get into fights, trying to protect us from his enemies.”

“A year? And you didn’t know you were going to be like him?”

Rich shook his head. “Not until it was triggered and I was killed. I was shot by the same mugger who killed Tessa Noël.” Rich took a deep breath. “By then, I knew about immortals because my guardian was one, and Mac is one of the immortals headhunters go after on his name alone.”

Jamal stared at Rich. “He didn’t tell you?”

“No. Until then, I didn’t get why Mac was so passionate about saving my ass from the street. Nobody gave a damn about it before. Figured it made him happy to teach me how to stop being a petty thief. I had a roof over my head, food I didn’t have to steal, and steady money from working in his store. Learning another language and putting up with his and Tessa’s rules was just fair trade, in my book.”

“Weren’t you angry with him for not telling you sooner?”

Rich laughed. “For about, oh, thirty seconds, sure. But I was reckless and stupid back then; Mac was sure I’d kill myself accidentally long before I was shot. He thought he had time to get me into shape and ease me into the truth. It didn’t work out that way.”

Jamal studied Rich. “Do you wish he’d told you sooner?”

“Not anymore,” he said, looking as though he’d come to terms with that fact. “I couldn’t have saved Tessa – the mugger shot her first – and that’s the only thing that would’ve made it worth it.” Rising to his feet, Rich stepped closer to Jamal. “You don’t have to understand it all at once. I need you to believe that it’s real, that it’s dangerous, and that I will do anything to protect you, because I love you.” He paused, then added, “If you need to talk to someone else about this, I’d suggest Joe or Mac.”

“Is Joe like you?”

“No,” Rich said. “He was saved by an immortal back in Vietnam, and he’s kept the secret ever since.”

“That explains why he was so reluctant to talk to me when I asked why you left. Do all of your friends know?”

“No one was making fun of you for not knowing,” Rich answered the unspoken question. “If anything, my friends were worried you’d figure it out sooner, be madder at me. As for who in town knows, it’s just Joe and Mac. My best friends are in Paris, and they’re like me. I have other friends, but they’re scattered across the world, and not all of them know what you now know.”

Jamal bit his lip; it was almost too much to take in at once. “So what happens now?” he wondered. “You don’t want to settle down, but you love me enough to tell me everything.”

Rich let out a breath. “Depends on you,” he said honestly. “I’m willing to be with you, Jamal, and talk about what we want to do together. I’m not going anywhere just yet; if and when I do, I’d love to take you with me if I can and if you want to go.” He met Jamal’s gaze, looking far more open than Jamal could ever remember him being, and the wary hope Jamal saw spoke volumes. “I can’t promise you that it’ll be easy, Jamal. Nothing I’ve ever wanted came easy to me, and I had to learn the hard way when not to say anything. Got to be a habit.”

“Will you get mad if I pry?”

“I’ll try not to.”

Trying to absorb everything, Jamal let silence fall as he walked a few paces away. “The more I know about this Game, the more I understand why you’d want to pretend like it doesn’t exist. It just sounds horrible and hurtful.”

Rich said nothing.

“What I know for sure is I don’t want to be without you; the glimpse I got of living without you is nothing I want.” He turned to face Rich, straightening his shoulders as he took a deep breath. “You were right: I don’t need to know how old you are or what your childhood was like to know how much you cared. I didn’t understand your reasons, but now I have a better idea, I can’t imagine you being alone, with no one to care about you, trying to get through it. You asked me the day you broke up with me why I thought you were worth loving,” Jamal said slowly. “Now I’m asking you the same question. Why me?”

“Because you have a heart like I haven’t seen since I was eighteen. Because you make me believe that I could have a real home again, something I haven’t had in nearly twenty years. When I’m with you, the Game seems so far away, and I’m just a guy in love with someone amazing and gorgeous.”

Jamal smiled. Somehow, someway, they were going to make this work. “You realize I’m never going to believe you on that ‘gorgeous’ label. You’re going to have to spend a long time trying to convince me.” He closed the distance between them. “Say, the rest of my life?”

Rich grinned, and Jamal fell a little more in love. “Works for me,” Rich told him.

_Finis_ 4/18/13


End file.
